There was no harm in her, really, only once she had got hold of Crumb's hat she found that she liked it rather, and being still a very young dog who happened to have grown somewhat larger than one would expect a puppy to be, being used to puppies of smaller sorts, she was not yet accustomed to listening or doing-as-one-is-asked, and no matter how Crumb scolded, she kept hold of the little straw hat, gently gnawing at it with her sharp puppy teeth.

Crumb the mouse found herself in a precarious position. She had come out with Miss Nellie, intending to take the late summer air, and perhaps to pick a few flowers, but no sooner had her paws found the earth, than she was knocked off them by a large, panting flash of blond fur, all leg and tail and enormous, clumsy feet.

Even before she had scrambled up again, she was admonishing her assailant, whom at his moment had less interest in her and more in her headwear. "You scurvy rascal! You mangy animal! Drop that hat! Drop it now! Drop it! I said drop it, you great, stupid beast! Oooooh, I ought to - -"

But as Crumb took in the scale of this new animal, she concluded that perhaps her lecture would be better delivered from the cover of a hiding-place, so she quickly ducked beneath the leaves of an obliging nasturtium, where she watched as what could only be described as a canine-type-of-animal scuppered off with her hat and proceeded to try and eat it. She had lost track of Cake in the commotion of her first meeting with the puppy, which was not exactly the kind of how-do-you-do that a body would want to have everyday, if a body survived the first meeting at all, which was very much doubtful, Crumb thought. Very much doubtful, indeed.

"Ahoy! Crumb! Ahoy, my dear!" Crumb peered through her hiding-place towards a nasturtium across the walk which seemed to be rustling and emitting muffled greetings. She could just make out one of Cake's ears, poking out amidst the blooms.

"I say, my dear! Are you all right? Didn't see that coming, did we? I must say, a warning might have been nice. Yes, a warning would have been jolly nice. I wonder if I might just hop over and join you, Crumb, old fellow? The - er - beast - seems to be occupied at the moment, so I might just..." There was a brief struggle as Cake tried to extract himself from his botanical hiding place, and Cake appeared from under the nasturtium, all but one back leg, which had become entangled in the arms of the plant. With a final yank, he pulled free and fell onto the bricks of the walk. All his exertions had attracted the notice of the puppy, who galloped over to meet this animal and see if it might enjoy being jumped upon or perhaps being gently chewed and tossed about. She had not yet met this particular kind of animal, but was hopeful that it did exist, although the list of animals that did not enjoy these exercises was daily growing.

The puppy advanced, sniffing, and gave Cake's face a small lick. "Oh, I say! Yes, er, I mean to say - we haven't met properly, have we? Yes, well - er- rather- Ah! I'm not familiar with this kind of greeting - perhaps you're continental? Or, OUCH! I say, my good fellow! OUCH!" Cake roared again, as the puppy began to tug gingerly at his eye with her teeth. Cake was an animal with few natural defenses, having very short limbs and slow reflexes. He had been gifted chiefly with speech, and little else, so he continued to try to call the dog off.

Sadly, the puppy was still unfamiliar with words beyond her name, and remained singular in her intention of dislodging the small, black beady object from her new friend's face. And very likely she would have succeeded, had not The Lady and Miss Nettie happened to return to the garden at that moment, and discovered the Ordeal, and enacted a Rescue.

While The Lady held the puppy, Miss Nettie scooped Cake up. Meanwhile, Crumb scurried out of her Hiding Place and snatched up her hat, and was then snatched up herself by Miss Nettie.

Of course the whole Ordeal, as Cake and Crumb would refer to it in aftertimes, had taken place in the space of a minute or two. Still, it was enough adventure to last a very small animal like Crumb months, years even. But she had noticed, Crumb had, that when one is dealing with very large animals, that very large adventures can seem to happen in almost no time at all. It went without saying, as Cake liked to say.

....

The Lady and Miss Nettie had taken "Leonard," as they seemed to be calling her, on a walk, and Cake and Crumb were left to "take the air," as Crumb liked to say. Cake was rather shaken still, and really felt that his left eye seemed rather looser than it had before the Ordeal. "But after all," he said to Crumb, "We're really none the worse for it, not really. None the worse. No, because as I say, it really might have been dreadful, don't you think? Of course one hears of these sorts of things happening to other rabbits - dogs, and all that - but one never thinks it will happen to you. I say, Crumb, dear, have you ever met a dog? And I meantosay, my dear, did you know that a dog resided here? Because I must admit, I had no idea of it! Now it's true that I'm not the what you might call, er, I'm not particularly 'ass-toot,' you might say, but still, I keep my eyes and ears open. I try to stay on top of things, like a body does. The thing of it is - "

"Yes, yes," Crumb sniffed. "As you say, and say, and say. NO, I did NOT know that a canine had come to reside here, and I must say, I never would have dreamed that The Lady, such as she is, would invite a dog into her home. So tidy, so particular. I can't imagine what she was thinking! And such a great brute of a dog! Why, she'll be twice that size in no time, and then twice that again!"

"Friends!" squeaked Crumb. "What do you mean 'friends?' We don't mean ever to be friends with such a things a great, gallumping, saliva-dripping beast as a dog! How could you think it?"

"Well, I only mean that as she's Miss Nettie's friend, and she lives here, and we'll be seeing rather a lot of her, that perhaps it might be best if we learn to be - er - friends? Eh, my dear Crumb? ..... Crumb, dear?" Cake ventured.

Crumb sniffed violently. But she didn't speak, which meant she was Considering. "Yes, well," she said after a few moments, putting on her hat, "We've got to get our flowers picked while that menace - or should I say, friend, is away, so mind what I say, and cut me some of those yellow nasturtiums. Up there in that high bed, just over there, yes, you see them? There. I want two of that color, and one of the purple geraniums."

Cake saw nothing for it but to do as Crumb asked, and climbed the wall. There wasn't so much ever a victory with Crumb, as concession. Cake knew better by now than to push for more.

Looking and feeling rather worse-for-the-wear from the Ordeal with the puppy, and from foraging in the flower beds, Cake had managed to gather a nice selection of blooms, and Crumb was satisfied with her posy. Which was really the best they could hope for, that Crumb was satisfied. A satisfied Crumb was really the only type of Crumb that was pleasant to be with, and as Cake liked to say, "If you're happy, Crumb, my dear, then I'm happy, too." And they were.

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It was late afternoon and Cake and Crumb were sitting in the sunny front room next to the bassinet where the Baby was sleeping a little fitfully, waving her arms and twitching her fingers and occasionally breathing a deep sigh.

- at which Cake tries birthday cake and meets two famous rabbits -

Cake was so excited he could hardly find words. He'd just been invited to tea for the first time in his life. It hadn't been a formal invitation, exactly. What had happened was that he overheard the Lady at breakfast, asking Miss Nellie if she'd like to have a tea party with her friends for her birthday? And Miss Nellie had replied "You would," meaning she would. And would she like to invite Cake and Crumb? And she had replied "You would," meaning she would, and so the matter was settled. There would be a tea party at 10:30, as soon as Miss Nellie finished her breakfast, and as soon as the Lady could set the table and make the tea and round up all the guests. Cake could hardly stay on the window sill. And once when the Lady left the room, he recklessly considered making a run for the table to help Miss Nellie finish her dreaded porridge.

But the Lady came back before he could act, so now he sat, positively trembling, unable to vent any of his feelings, forced to sit dumbly and wait for the Lady to fetch him, when he jolly well wanted to have a look in the mirror and perhaps jump onto the interweb for a quick refresher of tea party etiquette. He wondered what Crumb was thinking. Had she much experience with tea? He supposed she had; she seemed to know about everything. He watched the Lady lay out the cloth and set the flowers and china in their places.Ah, there was one large cup, and one smaller cup, and one, two, three, four very small cups and saucers. Four? Why four? Cake counted in his mind. No, he and Crumb were only two. That was quite right. Surely they didn't each get two cups of tea? And if so, did one hold a cup in each hand and alternate drinking from both? Or did one drink one of the cups first, and then move on to the second cup? Oh dear, he really felt quite beyond his depth. If only he'd had some warning of the tea party he would have read all about it. He was most unprepared. Confound that lady and her eternal fussing!

The Lady was slicing a tiny pink cake and dishing out pieces onto small plates. And here was Miss Nellie, wearing a new birthday dress and cardigan, looking very smart. The Lady went out of the room again and Cake looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing his kitchen apron today, thankfully; he was entirely without dress. He desperately wished the Lady would mark the occasion by presenting him with a bowtie or the like. That would look fine. He had dreams of a jacket and waistcoat, but he would be quite content to have a necktie. At this moment, the Lady returned, carrying two rabbits whom Cake didn't recognize. Miss Nellie stood, tugging at the table cloth, anxious to have her tea and cake. The Lady set the unknown rabbits beside two cups of tea and two plates of cake and then came and lifted Cake and Crumb from their spots on the window.

Now everyone was seated. The Lady made introductions. The White Rabbit? But surely not, Cake thought. The White Rabbit from the book? Outside of being a very great age by this point, what would he be doing here, of all places? My goodness, but he must be over one hundred years old! And dressed so well, though the clothes were showing their years, Cake thought. A bit outdated, a bit yellowed, but very elegant for their time. Cake couldn't wear purple or wine tones himself; they clashed with his coat, but he did admire a hare who could. Oh, how he wished the Lady had given him a necktie! To be forced to sit at tea with The White Rabbit wearing nothing at all! How common, how simple, how juvenile, the White Rabbit must think him! He was brought back to himself by a very small sniff issuing from his right side. It was Crumb, who was sitting quite still, just as he was, waiting to be asked to help herself to the refreshments. She was sniffing, it seemed, in response to the Lady's introduction of the second rabbit, "The Easter Bunny."

The Easter Bunny? That little thing? Oh tosh, what was the world coming to? He was having tea with The White Rabbit AND the Easter Bunny and he wasn't wearing a stitch, though he was rather glad he wasn't wearing whatever sort of head ribbon the Easter Bunny had tied round her ears. He wasn't sure if it was functional or decorative, but he thought perhaps it was meant to be artistic, as she seemed rather aloof and her frock was stained with paint. She was hiding under the flower arrangement as if she didn't want to be there. And he was sure he saw her lip curl as she watched Miss Nellie drop cake into her tea. But that couldn't be! My goodness, though, if that was the Easter Bunny.... Perhaps she was new to the job and hadn't quite warmed up to it yet. He couldn't very well see how she carried all the eggs and candy on those spindly little legs. He had always imagined the Easter Bunny as a stout, matronly type of rabbit. This little thing had just refused cake because she was on a "cleanse." She was only eating "soft greens and fruit." There was another sniff from his left side.

The Lady invited Cake and Crumb to try the cake. Miss Nellie had already spilled her cup of tea and eaten all her frosting and was now trying to stir his tea with her cake fork. "Try it! Try it!" She urged Cake, and pressed his nose down towards a plate of cake. Which did smell delightful, now that he was up close. He took a bite. In that moment everything else, the manners and the world-famous rabbits and his lack of a necktie, all Cake's earthly cares, floated away. Oh heaven! So this was cake! What a miraculous creation! Why had he wasted so much of his life without it? He took another bite, and another. He knew now why folks went on getting older, despite all the drawbacks: it was for the birthday cake. Of course a body could survive another year with the prospect of a whole cake of their own to greet them on the other side.

Cake's cake was disappearing rapidly, and Crumb began to sniff loudly, hoping to call him back to himself. He had rather lost all restraint and was now shoveling cake frenziedly, using his paws and a large silver fork in turn. The Easter Bunny, who had remained reserved and rather disdainful throughout the pleasantries, was now watching Cake with wide, horrified eyes. The White Rabbit was peering at Cake from beneath his bushy eyebrows and over the top of his teacup rather wisely, as though he had met his kind of animal before. And indeed he had met at least one little girl in his life who enjoyed cake as almost as much as Cake the Rabbit was at this moment. The White Rabbit himself had never much cared for cake; it was too messy. It soiled one's gloves, and he was particular about his gloves. He preferred a nice, crisp biscuit. Ah, well. He was past the age of expecting too much, especially from young people. This young mother knew nothing of tea, that was clear enough. She hadn't offered milk or sugar. And the tea itself seemed to be some sort of greenish hue.

Now Miss Nellie, having finished her own cake, had grown antsy, and was excused to play. The Lady, after gulping down the last of her (cold) tea, hurried after her to help her find the book she wanted and make sure her hands were clean. Cake was just eating the last of his cake when he noticed they were alone. He thought he may have rather lost his manners a few moments ago while he was eating his cake, and it took all his self-control to walk past the remaining birthday cake and introduce himself to The White Rabbit and the Easter Bunny.

"It's wonderful to meet you, sir," said Cake, taking The White Rabbit's paw enthusiastically between his own. "I'm an awfully big admirer of you, of course what young rabbit isn't? You do such wonderful work - But I can't tell you what an honor it is, and what a very handsome waistcoat you have! You MUST give me the name of your tailor! I'm afraid all my own clothes are being cleaned at the moment - terrible inconvenience, of course - I was invited today on VERY short notice - but I couldn't refuse - I've known little Miss Nellie since birth, as it was - 'Uncle Cake-y' she calls me, and you know what little girls are! Of course you do, of course you do! - so I came as I'm made, you might say, haha! " Here Cake motioned apologetically to his naked limbs, and noticed that he was covered in cake crumbs and bits of icing.

"I say, DO forgive me, madam! Cake the Rabbit, your servant," said Cake, extending his paw and brushing crumbs off his chest with the other.

"Charmed," returned the Easter Bunny, tonelessly, extending a limpid paw. "You enjoy refined sugar," she said flatly, motioning to the cake.

"Er, well, the cake, you mean? Oh, yes, rather. Of course I relish my greens as much as the next rabbit, but every now and then a bit of 'refined sugar,' as you say, is just the thing! I was feeling rather peckish before the tea - low blood sugar, you know - er, well. Jolly! Yes. Well .... This is your peak season, isn't it?" asked Cake. "However did we manage to steal you away from all your preparations?"

"Hmmm?" the Easter Bunny asked, turning her head slowly back towards Cake. "Oh, for sure. I'm totally shattered. The kids will get what they get, I suppose. You can't force art, you know? It's a process. Everyone's always like 'Oh, Marigold's favorite color is pink! Can you do something in pink for her?' and 'Oh, Julian's favorite thing is dinosaurs. Can you do something with dinosaurs for him?' I can't even begin..... They don't get it. It doesn't work like that. I'm just the vessel through which it passes, right? If they don't like the eggs, they just weren't ready to receive them, you know?"

Cake's eyes grew wide as he listened to this speech and he nodded vaguely as if he understood, but just then he heard the Lady saying she had to get something from the kitchen. Hastily he backtracked to his side of the table and sat down again beside Crumb. The Lady filled a glass with water, looked at the clock, murmured something about "lunch" and "mess," and left the room again. In a moment she was back and picked up The White Rabbit and the Easter Bunny from the table, carrying them into the next room.

"Well!" sniffed Crumb in her most scandalized whisper. "What do you make of all THAT? I don't believe for a second that she's the REAL Easter Bunny. What business does SHE have working around children? She doesn't even like them! What's she going to put in their baskets? Prunes? Dates? A bouquet of leafy greens? What's she talking about a CLEANSE??? I'll give her a CLEANSE! 'Oh, I'm not eating refined sugar,' " Crumb simpered, flailing her paws around.

"Shhhhh! My dear Crumb, try to keep your voice down! She's only in the next room! But I DO wish we'd had some warning of all this. The Lady might have told us last night so I would have had time to prepare myself. How was my comportlement? Was I right in my manners?" Cake asked anxiously.

"Well, if diving headfirst into your cake and stuffing with your paws is part of comportment, you did admirably," Crumb said mercilessly. "And if ringing old rabbit's hands off while covered in crumbs and telling bald lies and dropping clangers left and right is comportment, then yes; you were very 'right' in your manners."

Cake hung his head. "Oh, Crumb. I'm afraid I lost my head today. I did make an utter fool of myself, didn't I? I was so anxious for everything to go well, and then The White Rabbit and the Easter Bunny showed up and I felt rather out of my league. And ashamed not to have any fine clothes. And then the cake. Ah, the cake. I say, the cake!" exclaimed Cake, turning around to look over his shoulder. "The cake is still there! Just sitting there, half a cake! Do you think the Lady would notice if I just sliced off a small piece? Or perhaps I could take a bit from both sides... would that be less noticeable?"

"Cake! You'll do no such thing! I absolutely forbid you to lay a paw on that cake! Of COURSE she'll notice. She always notices when the Man sneaks food, doesn't she? Now pull yourself together! You must let the cake go. There will be more birthdays and more cakes in the future. And more tea parties, too, if you haven't completely turned the Lady off them with your very fine comportment. So! You want some clothes, do you? And I want a few things myself. We must see what we can do about that. I have an idea," and Crumb proceeded to lay out her plan.

This is how the Lady found them when she came to clear the table, side by side, Cake's head bent down towards Crumb, as if they were talking. "Poor Cake," she said, brushing the crumbs off him. The little girl had pushed him head-first into a plate of cake. She hoped all the frosting would come off.

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"Oat flour, barley flour, buckwheat flour.... chickpea flour! What in world does she do with that? I just want some good, old-fashioned white flour. That's the only thing I ever use for cookies. Everything else tastes like sawdust, if you ask me." Crumb squeezed between two large bags of whole something-or-other flour.

Cake watched from the counter. "Are you sure we really need the flour?" he called. "Perhaps we can do with just sugar. They're called sugar cookies, after all!"

A large sniff issued from behind the flours. "Well you are a simple soul, aren't you? I suppose you've never even read a recipe. Haven't you ever baked anything before? Of course we need flour!" Crumb continued, not waiting for a reply. "Hmmm. This might be the stuff. There's not very much of it, and it's not labeled." She emerged again, pulling a small bag of white flour with her. "There was a bag of powdered sugar back there, too," she panted. "All covered in dust, but I've never known sugar to go bad. We'll just have to make do."

"Er, well, I did look over a few blogs I came across online, as they say, and they didn't make it seem quite as complicated as all this, " Cake ventured.

Crumb snorted. "Blogs! Nobody who ever had any intention of actually DOING something would waste her time reading a blog. All just pretty pictures and fluff. But you WOULD believe something you saw 'on-line!'" Crumb said, inflecting the internet in her most disdainful tones. Another sniff. "We can't all be dreamers. Some of us have to be Do-ers. Baking isn't magical; it's hard, messy work, and you have to be tough. You can't give up if you fail the first time or two."

Cake was beginning to have misgivings about their valentine for Miss Nellie. It was his suggestion they bake something. He had been in a buoyant mood on account of having his snags repaired and coat refreshed by the Lady, and he had giddily proposed "whipping up a little sweet something," inspired by what he had seen over the Lady's shoulder as she herself was searching for a Valentine's Day recipe. He was now eyeing all the various powders and ingredients warily, conscious of the fact that HE would be doing much of the work, while Crumb directed. And from the sounds of it, this was not so much a pleasant way to pass the afternoon as a battle waged between themselves and some less-than-cooperative ingredients. "Um, Crumb, my dear?" he said, "I'll just be a minute. I forgot something...." he hurried into the next room.

He returned a few minutes later, wearing a large, heavy apron showing signs of hard use. "What do you think you're doing?" Crumb asked, rather shrilly, when she saw him. "You can't come in my kitchen wearing that filthy old thing! It's covered in grease and ink from the typewriter. Do you want your cookies to taste like shoe blacking? Now take that off and help me find the eggs!"

"But Crumb, my dear, I've just been cleaned and my coat is looking so nice. I thought this might keep all these, er, sundries from spoiling it again. Couldn't I - "

"No, you could NOT. And anyway, I have an apron for you. A clean, kitchen apron. It's over there by the spice cabinet. Now stop wasting our time and help me FIND THE EGGS!"

Cake lifted the work apron off and picked up the dainty, mouse-sized apron he found by the cabinet. The strings barely stretched around his mid-section, but he was just able to tie them, thanks to the Lady's repairs. He was sure he had lost a centimeter or more from his middle. With this consolation to cheer him, as well as the knowledge that the apron did bring out the orange in his features, he trudged back to help Crumb.

"Ah! Doesn't that apron suit you?" asked Crumb, barely choking back a chuckle. "Yes, you DO look nice," she said smiling and turning away. "Now, where does the Lady keep her eggs? No one keeps them on the counter anymore. We did in my day. It's the best way for baking. You should always have your eggs room temperature. Everything goes in the icebox nowadays - "

Cake cleared his throat loudly and then broke in "Actually, I don't believe there are any eggs, my dear."

"What do you mean? You mean they're out of eggs?" Crumb asked anxiously.

"Well, in a manner. You see, I only know because I've heard the Lady and Man talking sometimes, and of course I didn't think anything of it because I'm not often in the kitchen and I don't particularly care for eggs, myself. But then of course when I was reading over the Lady's shoulder the other day I noticed too, but then I don't know so very much about it exactly, but I think that it's more and more these days and you know they say you can get all the protein you need from other things anyway and so I suppose what I mean to say is that they all seem to be healthy enough, don't you think, and so if they want to be, then why shouldn't they be?"

"Cake, I don't understand a mite of what you've just said! What are you getting at? WHAT shouldn't they be?" Crumb squeaked, her voice rising dangerously.

"Oh, didn't I say? I thought that was clear enough, but perhaps I didn't quite... hmmm. Well, Vee-gan, as it were. It means no animal products, you see? And eggs come from chickens, which are animals, though my goodness, they're dim enough. I've met broccoli that knew more than most chickens. Rabbits, as it so happens, have long been Vee-gan, or more to point, herbivores, and" Crumb sniffed loudly several times, tapping her toes on the counter, and Cake trailed off.

"So if I understand you," began Crumb, speaking in her slowest, most deliberate voice, "there are no eggs in this house because the Lady and the Man are Vee-gans. Which means they don't eat eggs. And I suppose they don't have butter? Because last I checked that ALSO comes from an animal. So how, my dear Cake, do you propose we make this delicious 'little something,' without any of the ingredients that 'sweet somethings' require?" she glared at him beadily.

"Yes! Well, that was on the blog, you see! It's called an egg alternator, which is something you use when your egg needs replaced. It's like mechanics for baking! It's quite simple. We could use something called a 'fax' egg or even a bit of pumpkin puree works. It's just a matter of swapping one thing for another, my dear Crumb! It's the new, 'kinder' way of baking."

"Hmmph!" sniffed Crumb. "Yes, well, how does this 'kind' baking taste? Like hearts and rainbows? Well, if you know so much about it, go on and show me how it's done. Let's see what you've learned from your blog!"

Cake swallowed hard and tried to imagine what the Great Man might do. He cast his mind back to the blog photos and yes, yes; it was coming back to him. He could do this. It would be his "Battle of Biscuit," and he would emerge triumphant. "Never has so much been owed by," he began in his most oratorical voice, "by, er, too, or is it so? hmm, many by, er, is it so again? Well, the point is," said Cake, collecting himself, we're going to bake a delicious, Vee-gan biscuit for dear Miss Nellie!"

"We'll just take some of this... and Crumb, dear, if you wouldn't mind too much at all, rolling that can of pumpkin over here? Yes, that's the one. And some of this coconut milk will do, and I suppose this will be rather a dark biscuit with the cane sugar, but the icing will cover that. Yes, here we are." Cake bustled around, scooping and measuring, and for once, Crumb didn't argue.

To tell the truth, Crumb's world view had been shaken slightly, and she would need some time to think it over. Not that she wasn't deeply skeptical. She couldn't see how this "biscuit" as Cake was now calling it, would possibly come together, but they were already elbow-deep in flour and egg "alternator," so it seemed they would have to see it through, or fail spectacularly in the attempt.

"How is it looking, Crumb dear?" came Cake's strained voice from below. "Easy does it now! You want to watch your specs!" he cried, as she leaned over the bowl, using all her strength to stir. Where were her specs? Oh dear. She squinted down into the bowl. Blasted things.

Crumbs spectacles were fished from the batter and the rest of the flour mixed in by Cake after Crumb's arms gave out. Now they stood on either side of a pile of sticky dough, eyeing it warily.

"No. No, it wouldn't then, would it? Because you've never seen Cake's-World-Famous-Vee-gan Giant-Heart-Happy-Valentine's-Day-Miss-Nellie-Biscuit!" cried Cake gaily. He really could be hard to take sometimes. "Now help me press this out."

"Oh, fine idea! Yes! I'll just..." Cake dipped his paws in a bit of spilled flour and began to pat gingerly at the dough.

Crumb watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed, then said, "Oh for mercy's sake! Get out of the way! You and your precious paws! I'll do it!"

A few minutes later they stood back. "How does it look from your view?" Crumb asked Cake. "I can't see the whole thing from down here."

"Er, yes, well, hmmm. I would say a bit lumpy at this end and then in the middle a bit, well, lumpy, but towards the tip... still a bit lumpy there, too. But I'm sure that will even out in the baking." Cake patted Crumb reassuringly on the back. "Into the oven it goes!" Cake exclaimed excitedly. "Twenty minutes ought to do."

The sun was sinking low in the sky when Cake and Crumb put the final touches on Miss Nellie's valentine treat. Cake had been heavy-handed with the sanding sugar, as one might expect, but on the whole, it looked rather nice, Crumb thought.

Cake, of course was in raptures."And just SEE how the light catches the sugar! Pink! Miss Nellie's favorite! Oh, it really should be on a blog! Cake's-World-Famous-Vee-gan-Giant-Heart --"

"Shut up, you!" Crumb cut him off. "I hear them coming down the stairs! Little Nel must be up from her nap!" They hurried up onto the window sill to wait.

The Lady came into the kitchen, holding a rumpled little girl. "Look, Sweetpea!" cried the Lady, drawing in her breath. "Look at the valentine someone made you! Who do you think could have done this?" she asked the child. The girl looked at Cake and Crumb sitting in the window. "Someone must love you very much," said the Lady.

"Pink binkles!" said the little girl, pointing excitedly. And she thought she saw Cake twitch his ear.

Cake was feeling low. The Lady had neglected to repair his snaggy coat for months now, and he was quite literally at loose ends. He didn't feel like writing, he didn't feel like reading. He was hardly talking. He had spent the last three days drooping around in front of the window, watching the fog and heaving large sighs. Crumb was not sympathetic. She was still sore about his being chosen as Nellie's special bedtime animal for two nights the week before, though she wouldn't admit it.

It had, of course, been an honor, and Cake had never been happier than those nights spent snuggled in the child's arms. But Miss Nettie was a restless sleeper and this had taken an extra toll on Cake's coat, which Crumb was keen to bring to his attention.

"You've heard of the Velveteen Rabbit, haven't you? There was another shabby rabbit, and never mind how the child loved him, they threw him out anyway!" she needled him. "Nights spent in the nursery are lovely enough when they happen, but the piper must be paid!"

"But I'm not made of velveteen," Cake whispered.

"No, you're not!" said Crumb. "You're made of wool. Wool fibers, to be exact, which is much more delicate than velveteen. And if ever little Nel was sick and slept with you, you could never be scoured clean! And THAT would be the end of Cake the Rabbit!"

"Oh, please. I haven't the heart, my friend. I was hoping the Lady would notice how shabby I'm looking, when she brought me down from the nursery. She set me in here on the work table, but that was days ago, and Miss Nellie will never find me in here." Cake said despairingly.

"If I were you, I'd enjoy the break," snapped Crumb. "Look at me! My sweater is lost, along with my specs. I'm SURE my tail must be broken; it hasn't worked right in months - I can't straighten it, see? My rocking chair got stepped on, the Lady stopped buying peanut butter, and Nellie always pulls my whiskers and pokes my eyes, but do you hear me complaining? No, I just get on with things, that's what I do."

"Ah, but you've a stronger will than I; you always have, you know? I'm afraid I suffer rather more than the average rabbit. It's my melancholy. You see, great minds have often suffered from it, and though I wouldn't want to draw comparison between myself and Winston Churchill," Cake began to pick up steam, his ears lifting animatedly.

Crumb rolled her eyes. She'd heard all about Churchill's "black dog" before. Once he got started on the "Great Man," as he referred to him, there was no telling how long Cake might go on. She looked around. Maybe she could find something useful in the jumble of things on the work table. A small sweater or even a piece of fabric she could use as a shawl.... She scurried around, sniffing. She was quite far-sighted without her spectacles.

".... and do you know what the man said to her? He said 'Madam, if I were your husband, I'd drink it!'" Here Cake laughed heartily and looked to see if Crumb was enjoying the joke. "I say, Crumb, my dear? Where have you got to?"

There was a scuffling sound from behind a pile of yarn. "Ah-ha!" came the muffled voice of Crumb. "Ah-ha! You see, while you've been yoodle-dooing on about your beloved old windbag, I've been getting on with things! And look where it's got me? I've found my specs, I have! And what have you done? Hmmm?" Crumb peered at him accusingly. She was struggling to free her glasses from the pincushion where they'd been lost among a jumble of straight pins and needles. "There we have it! They seem just fine," said Crumb, settling them on her nose. "Ah! To see again! Hell's bells, Cake! You are a sight! My goodness!" she sniffed audibly.

She scurried back over the piles of fabric and yarn. "And heavens, you're certainly stout as Churchill ever was, aren't you? I declare, Cake; you've been spreading!"

"I'm just as I've been, I'll thank you to know! I have an athlete's build!" retorted Cake. "And anyway, it makes me snuggly-a-ber! What child would want to cuddle YOUR tiny twitchit of a body?"

As his words hung in the air, Cake drew himself up, ready to meet his doom as a great man or rabbit might, but he was saved by the thundering approach of a pair of big and little feet. The Lady and the Child zoomed into the room, playing chase. Nellie's eyes fell upon the two, perched on the edge of the table. "Cake and Crumb! Cake and Crumb!" she squealed, grabbing one in each hand and running off. Crumb's spectacles clattered to the floor. The Lady picked them up and hooked them back on the pin cushion. She wondered how they'd ended up back on Crumb's little head. She certainly hadn't put them there. Had she?

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Cake was progressing in his Scheme. He was a little more groggy in the mornings, and took a little more honey in his tea, and of course there were the mysterious dark smudges that sometimes appeared behind his ear or under his nose which he couldn't quite account for, and which nearly drove Crumb to distraction. But he was moving ahead with his work and no one was yet the wiser.

Cake was progressing in his Scheme.

Cake was usually a very sound sleeper, but he, along with the rest of the family, had lately been finding his nights disturbed. And while he was sitting in the dark one night listening to the Baby fuss upstairs, something of an idea came to him, which Cake began to call his Scheme. A Scheme that he was trying to keep secret from Crumb for as long as he could. He hoped he would have a good deal of it worked out before Crumb caught wind, as Crumb had a way of squelching that Cake didn't appreciate. She was a very small creature with a very great ability to squelch.

The typewriter was essential to his Scheme.

Some time ago, an old typewriter had been gifted to the family, and as neither the Lady nor the Man had found time to begin cleaning and repairing it, Cake adopted the project. In the back of his wooly brain, Cake had an idea that he might like to be a poet. He had not been exposed to a great deal of poetry in his life, but he had heard just enough to be intrigued.

The typewriter was essential to his Scheme, as Cake was a rabbit with very short arms. He had no elbows at all, to speak of, or wrists or thumbs for that matter, so writing by paw was nearly impossible for him. He was only now learning to read little by little, mostly by way of eavesdropping during the Baby's story time, and by looking over the Lady or the Man's shoulder, he was gaining a small vocabulary. He hoped that by the time the typewriter was in working order, he would know sufficient words to begin writing short verses. Perhaps some "high coo." He was not yet perfectly sure what "high coo" was, but he knew they were short and mentioned often on public radio. And humble creature that Cake was, he assumed that if he wasn't up to high coo right away, he could write some low coo to begin.

He spent a few hours each night tinkering and cleaning.

So he spent a few hours each night tinkering and cleaning. It was a touchy business since testing the typewriter made such a racket. Luckily, Crumb was very often absent from their usual perch on the shelf. Cake was surprised by this, as Crumb usually maintained a strict bedtime and sleep routine which was not to be altered for any reason, unless PBS was showing an Andre Rieu special. Cake had not been able to divine where she went to every night, and didn't much care to, as long as it left him more freedom to carry out his Scheme.

While Cake was tinkering, Crumb was up to her own secret doings. But in Crumb's case, the goings-on were secret even from herself. In fact, the only body who had caught wind of her new nocturnal habits was the Lady, who had been finding strange scenes in the kitchen in the morning, and had not yet divined who in the house was responsible.

In her sleep-deprived state, Crumb had begun somnambulating, which is a fancy Latin word for sleep-walking. And she was not only walking in her sleep. She was eating. Not just a small something. Jars of peanut butter and loaves of bread were disappearing at an alarming rate. Now Crumb had noticed that her sweater seemed a little tighter over her hips, but she credited it to the Lady's poor laundry skills and the fact that she never took enough care with the hand-washables. Also she sometimes woke in the morning with little dabs of stickum in her whiskers or sometimes a piece of nut tickling her throat and of course she thought this very odd, but assumed she must have been remiss in her bedtime hygiene the night before.

Crumb had begun somnambulating, and she was not just sleep-walking. She was eating in her sleep.

Now I cannot tell you just how such a very small mouse managed to open very large jars of honey and peanut butter, or consume whole loaves of bread in a night. I only know that Crumb was a mouse of great determination, and that even in a state of unconscious, she possessed a very large force of will, which accounts for much.

Jars of peanut butter and loaves of bread were disappearing at an alarming rate.

So the nights were full of secrets, some of which were beginning to spill over into the day: Cakes's smudges, the disappearance of several small screwdrivers from the Man's toolbox, and the unaccountable appearance of small, greasy rags in the hamper. The Lady accused the Man not only of snacking too much before bed, but of becoming quite slovenly, leaving the kitchen in a disaster, with crumbs and smears of peanut butter and honey everywhere. The Man accused the Lady of using his tools and then losing them, and of cutting up one of his favorite old shirts to make rags.

The Lady and the Man couldn't make sense of it, but there was one person who had seen what was happening at night, and she wasn't talking. Yet.